Miranda was afraid to hope. Afraid to dream. Afraid to believe he might really mean it. “Why?”
“Why?” he echoed.
She nodded. “Why do you want to marry me?”
Daniel hesitated, debating whether to tell her the truth or the fairy tale. The truth was that he’d always felt badly about ending their first courtship and reducing her to an object of pity in the circle in which they moved. The truth was that as a gentleman, he was expected to sacrifice himself upon the matrimonial altar in order to preserve her good name and reputation since he’d been the man who’d recklessly jeopardized them. Not just tonight, but once before.
The truth was that marrying her immediately offered privacy and protection for both of them. A wife could not be compelled to bear witness against her husband if the nature of his injury or the reason for it became known. But the truth was calculating and not the least bit romantic, so Daniel opted for the fairy tale. “I thought all young ladies dreamed of eloping with a duke.”
“And I thought you’d learned better when Alyssa Carrollton chose Griffin Abernathy over you.”
“Alyssa was the exception,” he admitted. “She didn’t want to be a duchess.”
The irony, of course, was that Alyssa had chosen a viscount over a duke, only to have her viscount elevated to the rank of duke when he returned from war a national hero. “She’s perfectly happy as Griff’s duchess,” Miranda reminded him. “She didn’t want to be yours.”
“What about you, Miranda?” he whispered suggestively. “Can you honestly say the same?”
She couldn’t. And Daniel knew it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Cat got your sharp little tongue?”
“When did you become so cruel?” Miranda asked.
“I’m not being cruel.” He reached inside his jacket, fumbling to get his hand in one of the inner pockets. “I’m offering you your heart’s desire.”
Miranda watched as Daniel produced his pewter flask, uncapped it, took a long swallow, then laid the flask aside. “I’m sure the bishop will sell us a special license. Think about it, Miranda. I’ve decided to take a duchess. Now. Tonight.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, cringing even as he spoke them. “Wouldn’t you like to be a bride? Or are you content to walk down the aisle at season’s end as someone else’s bridesmaid?”
She looked over at Ned. “Take us to Number Four St. Michael’s Square.”
Chapter Five
“Where love is, no disguise can hide it for long;
Where it is not, none can stimulate it.”
—François, Duc de La Rochefoucauld, 1613–1680
Rupert pulled the coach to a halt in front of Number Four St. Michael’s Square a little past midnight. The bishop’s residence was called a palace, but it wasn’t appreciably larger than any of the other houses fronting the square. It was a stately red brick house that had housed the bishops of St. Michael’s for over a century. The other houses on the square were dark and quiet, and the streets around and behind it were empty of vehicles and pedestrians.
It was, Miranda had to admit, the perfect setting for a secret wedding, even if it wasn’t the wedding of her dreams. She waited in the coach with Daniel as Ned hurried up the walk to ring the bell, rouse the bishop, and bring him to the coach.
“Aren’t we going in?” Miranda asked.
Daniel lifted the leather curtain and looked out the window of the vehicle. He gauged the distance between the street and the front door, counted the number of steps, and then slowly shook his head. “ ’Fraid not. I don’t think I can make it inside under my own power, and I refuse to be carried inside. I don’t intend to give Bishop Manwaring a reason to refuse us a license.”
“What reason could he have?”
“Coercion,” Daniel replied, slurring the word ever so slightly.
“Of whom? You or me?”
Daniel’s attempt at a smile turned into a grimace as he shifted his weight on the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I’m the only one sporting a wound.”
“I can see it in the papers now,” Miranda said. “Mad Marchioness Wounds Dashing Duke in Desperate Bid to Force Him to Wed.”
“Pray we don’t see it in the papers,” Daniel managed. “Since scandal is what we’re hoping to avoid.”
Miranda smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her bloodstained silk dress. “That’s not all we’re trying to avoid. Is it, Daniel?”